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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473562">Ephemeral</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka'>yeaka</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, M/M, Sad, Temporary Character Death, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 10:34:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22473562</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank loses another one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson/Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ephemeral</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He gets there just in time to grab Connor’s broken body before it hits the pavement, but blue blood already splatters the ground, and Hank knows he’s <i>too late</i>. The suspect’s still running, bolting off through the empty park, slipping along the ice but never slowing. Maybe Hank should run after her. Maybe Hank should shoot her legs out from under her. But Connor’s weight sags in his arms, and he doesn’t have the will to move.</p><p>He stumbles to the concrete instead, wincing as it scratches his knees right through his denim pants. Connor sags against him, head lolling to the side, forehead pressed against his middle. Connor’s hair is ruffled from the wind—he chased after her, so much faster than Hank could ever be. Not fast enough. A few stray strands are curled down against Connor’s pale forehead, and it makes no sense, but his artificial skin looks like it’s losing colour. Maybe Hank’s seeing things. Hank’s heart is pumping a mile a minute. Connor’s thirium is pumping right out the hole in his shattered chest. The gaping wound leaves his shirt in tatters, and Hank can see the fractured plating underneath, right down to the fraying wires. Connor’s brown eyes are becoming yellow, lit with glowing circles: becoming <i>machine</i> again. A dying machine. Hank can see the life fading from him and would do anything to stop it. </p><p>Hank swallows and rasps, “Connor, no, hold on—”</p><p>“Shut down mode initiated,” Connor recites, voice oddly metallic. But his gaze is fixed on Hank, and Hank’s sure there’s some humanity left there. Connor coughs static and reports, “Forty-five seconds to system failure.”</p><p>Forty-five seconds isn’t anywhere near enough. Hank reaches down and fumbles for Connor’s hand, grabbing it, snatching it up, squeezing it hard. Thirium’s trickling out the corner of Connor’s mouth, and he tells Hank, as if <i>Hank’s</i> the one that needs reassurance, “I will be replaced.”</p><p>Numbly, Hank nods. He knows. Connor always is. But he loses a little piece of himself every time, and Hank still feels like he’s watching his lover <i>die</i>. It’s like their memories are leaking right out into the snow; maybe the new RK800 won’t know that Sumo likes to be scratched behind his ears and Hank likes cuddling after sex. Maybe Connor won’t remember how much he loves singing along to Hank’s obnoxious music and won’t know that Hank secretly loves waking up to that joyous noise. </p><p>“Thirty seconds.”</p><p>Hank’s shaking. He squeezes Connor’s hand harder. He looks down into Connor’s flickering eyes and croaks out, “You need to remember, Connor. We got past this. Everything, we’re not—don’t you <i>dare</i> come back into that precinct calling me <i>lieutenant</i> like nothing’s changed.”</p><p>Connor tries to smile, but it comes out more as a flinch. Hank’s eyes are prickling at the edges. His voice is shaking when he orders, “Don’t forget that I...” He has to swallow again. There’s a lump in his voice. It’s insane. He tries to reel back to forever ago and tell himself that Connor’s nothing but plastic, plastic he can buy again, but he still mutters hoarsely, “Don’t forget I love you.”</p><p>Connor manages his smile. He murmurs, “Hank, I l—” But then his mouth stills mid-syllable. The light fades from his eyes. His body’s stiff in Hank’s arms. Nothing moves. </p><p>Hank hunches over him and cries.</p>
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